


The D Word

by meridian_rose (meridianrose)



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Mundane, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon Ships It, Community: trope_bingo, Fate & Destiny, First Meetings, Fluff, Indiana Jones References, M/M, Minor Injuries, Minor Violence, My First Work in This Fandom, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:40:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23159428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meridianrose/pseuds/meridian_rose
Summary: Modern AU. Jaskier is rescued by a tall handsome stranger and naturally has to find and thank him. It's almost like destiny…For the trope bingo prompt: AU: mundane.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 9
Kudos: 171
Collections: Trope Bingo: Round Fourteen





	The D Word

He managed to talk his way out of most difficulties–he managed to talk himself into most of them to begin with. A stand up comedian-cum-musician or perhaps the other way around, Jaskier often ruffled feathers, but things rarely got physical.

Tonight, in a dark alley behind the club as he'd tried to take a shortcut on his walk home, that changed. Three men who'd taken umbrage to his off the cuff ballad for two men who said they'd recently got engaged–or more likely took umbrage at Jaskier's searing response to their homophobic response to the ballad–cornered him.

Jaskier ducked the first blow, and threw a punch of his own. He caught the second blow in the gut and a third to the side of his face. As he collapsed against the rough brick wall, head spinning, eyes streaming, he heard the sounds of more fighting that didn't, thankfully, involve him.

When he managed to focus, Jaskier looked over to see one of his attackers semi-conscious on the filthy ground, blood trickling from his nose, the second man shrieking and clutching his knee, while the third was trying and failing to hit a newcomer to the fray.

The newcomer was tall, with long platinum hair tied half-back. Jaskier had caught a glimpse of him at the bar to the back of the room, liking the physique which was enhanced by the low cut dark shirt and tight black trousers. In fact the sight of the stranger had almost thrown him completely off his game and by the time Jaskier had finished his act and looked for the man who'd taken his breath away, there was no sign of him. It was serendipitous that he'd shown up again now.

The stranger moved with self-assured elegance to avoid the blows before he grabbed at the attacker's arm. What followed was a swift move that Jaksier couldn't fully make out, but there was no mistaking the crack of the dislocated shoulder that resulted. The wounded man was released, howling in pain.

"Go," the newcomer said in a voice that brooked no argument and the two injured men limped away, leaving their whimpering fallen companion behind like the cowards they were. He managed to roll over and half-limped, half-crawled after them, cursing them.

The newcomer's gaze fell on Jaskier. "Are you badly hurt?"

Jaskier pressed a hand to his nose and it didn't come away bloody, which was something. "I don't think so."

"Hmm." The man nodded in satisfaction and began to walk away.

"Wait!" Jaskier hurried after him, despite his disorientation. "Thank you! Who are you? Why were you out here?"

There was no answer until they reached the street. "Did you drive here?"

"What?"

When the man fixed his gaze on Jaskier, his eyes were yellow, or maybe orange, surely a trick of the streetlights or Jaskier's frenzied adrenaline-fuelled mind playing tricks on him.

"Did you drive here? Or take a cab?"

Jaskier shook his head. His cheekbone was hurting. He was going to be bruised. "A bus and I then walked the rest of way." At the disapproving look from his rescuer, he protested, pleading poverty and being unable to afford a cab from where he was currently living; sometimes he walked the whole distance if it wasn't raining.

The man huffed and stuck out one hand. A moment later Jaskier was bundled into a taxi with cab fare handed to the driver.

"Wait," Jaskier said again but the man was gone as swiftly as he'd arrived in the alley. He sank back against the seat and watched the strobing of the lights as the taxi took him home. A guardian angel with the most amazing hair and ass had saved his life and Jaskier didn't even know his name.

*

Jaskier took a quick shower when he got home and fell into bed. He was exhausted but it was hours before he drifted off, his thoughts and, when he did sleep, his dreams, haunted by the tall stranger with the hypnotic eyes and incredible fighting moves. He dreamt of seeing him again, their eyes meeting across the crowded room, their hearts beating in unison.

Jaskier tossed and turned, enraptured by the stranger. Oh, to be held close by those powerful arms, to rest his head upon that chest…

When he woke it was almost lunchtime. He made a sandwich from the most palatable things he had left in the tiny kitchen and wondered what he should do. He had to find the stranger, that much seemed certain. To thank him, of course. That was only polite.

If more came of it, that would be a bonus.

Jaskier headed back to the club, walking the whole way to conserve money for buying groceries later. In preparation for the evening opening, Fi was cleaning tables, and she was happy to let him in to keep her company. She'd been working at the club for longer than Jaskier had ever lived in one place, let alone worked at.

"What happened to you?" she asked as he perched on a stool at the bar.

Jaskier gingerly touched the bruise on his face. "Some assholes tried to beat the crap out of me last night. That's why I'm here, actually."

"You know none of the cameras work except the one pointed at the till," Fi said.

Jaskier nodded. "I'm not looking for them. I'm looking for the man who rescued me."

"Rescued you?" Fi moved to the next table. "That sounds so dramatic. And romantic."

Jaskier nodded more fervently. "Yes, and I didn't get his name. He's tall, yay high, long hair, looks like a fitness instructor or someone's bodyguard."

Fi paused. "You mean Geralt."

"Do I?"

She nodded. "He's a friend of the owner. Stops by now and again to visit her and keeps an eye on things when she's out of town on business. He's not a fitness instructor though. He's a professor."

"What?" Jaskier had a hard time imagining this Geralt being much of a reader, let alone a teacher, and then scolded himself for making assumptions. He'd once dated a librarian and she had been into some rather unusual practices that Jaskier had never explored before nor since; the axiom of not judging a book by its cover had never seemed so apt. 

He'd also briefly dated a quiet, unassuming man, who'd cranked up the volume to unforeseen levels in the bedroom. These memories were pushed aside when he found himself wondering how Geralt (what a charming name!) might be behind closed doors.

"Like Indiana Jones? Archaeology professor as a day job, heroic adventurer by trade?" Jaskier said, finally grasping onto something he could make sense of. Great, now he was imagining Geralt with a whip.

Fi shrugged. "Not archaeology but close. History and folklore or something. Like, dragons and monsters and how people used to think they were real. He's got a thing about weapons too; I heard he made his own sword to learn about smithing."

That was again unexpected but Jaskier just nodded, caught up in the idea of a shirtless, sweaty, Geralt hammering at hot steel to hone the perfect blade.

"Any chance you know where he lives?" he asked casually.

"I wouldn't tell you if I did," Fi said firmly. "If you want to thank him come back tonight and see if he's here."

"Fair enough." Jaskier slid to the floor. "But I'm not performing tonight, remember? See you tomorrow."

He didn't leave however, sneaking into the back office instead. He'd seen the door code entered, and memorised it, a few months ago, just in case, and it hadn't been changed since which was terrible security but lucky for him.

The owner had all the modern tech one would expect, but she was also both old-fashioned and paranoid enough to keep paper copies of important data, something he'd heard the regular employees comment on. So Jaskier hoped she kept some sort of address book or Rolodex. He was lucky again; in an unlocked top drawer was a lined notebook with gold embossed lettering on the cover and inside, in neat script, was a list of contacts. They weren't in alphabetical order but then Jaskier had only a first name and would have had to flip through the pages anyway.

It didn't take long to find Geralt Rivia listed, along with his phone number and home address. Jaskier took a photo of the page with his phone and headed out, ensuring the doors were locked as he went.

He went home and rehearsed a million scenarios in his head. Half a dozen times he began to dial Geralt's phone number but stopped short every time. This required a face to face meeting. Hours passed as he argued with himself about what to do, though deep down he'd already decided.

Unable to do otherwise, at last he took a bus as close as he could get to Geralt's apartment building, a much nicer one than his own; academia paid well.

For a long moment he paused, wondering if he should just go home. This was borderline stalking. He was over-reacting to a kindly gesture.

A breeze caught at his hair and nudged at him, as if urging him to step inside. The moment Jaskier had laid eyes on Geralt at the bar he'd almost lost track of the song he was playing, feeling a jolt of undeniable attraction. It had sparked something that had to be seen through, even if it ultimately went nowhere. Jaskier had to at least approach Geralt and properly meet him. He had to get up close while not being in immediate danger and see what kind of man he was.

Steeling himself, Jaskier went inside and up to the apartment, leaning on the bell and rehearsing what he was going to say.

All his planned openings failed however when the door opened and a young woman, somewhere in her mid-teens he guessed, eyed with him with the sort of relaxed awareness that Jaskier associated with cops and military types; not exactly distrustful but not in the least trusting or vulnerable. Probably a student that Geralt was mentoring. No, too young; maybe a student that he was tutoring so she'd get into college.

"Yes?" she asked while his mind whirled.

"I'm looking for Geralt," Jaskier said.

"What do you want with my father?"

Jaskier nearly choked. A teenage daughter was not something he'd been expecting. "Your father?" he asked in a strangled tone.

She smiled, amused, and the coolness was gone like clouds fleeing and revealing the sun. "Adopted," she said.

"Ah." Jaskier tried to gather his thoughts. "I came to thank him. I ran into some trouble last night."

She nodded. "The boy who was being beaten up in an alley," she said, eyeing the bruise.

"I wouldn't say boy," Jaskier began.

She beckoned him to enter. "Come in. I'm Ciri."

"Jaskier."

Ciri led him down a narrow hallway and knocked on a wood-panelled door. "Geralt. There's someone to see you."

The door opened and Geralt frowned as he laid eyes on Jaskier.

"I'll leave you to it," Ciri said. "I have homework."

Geralt tipped his head. His eyes were still the most unusual colour; brown that was so light it was actually amber.

"What are you doing here?" Geralt asked. "How did you find me?"

Jaskier shrugged, trying to be nonchalant. "I have my ways. I only sought you out to thank you."

He hoped the lie didn't show on his face. A sin of omission rather an untruth, for he did want to thank Geralt. He was just more interested in Geralt than was probably wise. A handsome face and pleasing body did not mean Geralt would be a good man to cultivate a relationship with. 

Yet he was kind, wasn't he? He'd stepped in to prevent Jaskier being beaten to a pulp. And those muscular arms and those enchanting eyes and that hair...Jaskier's fingers twitched with the effort of restraining himself from touching it.

He has a daughter, Jaskier reminded himself. What other secrets might he have? What other responsibilities? What could he see in a rootless, reckless, wannabe who couldn't even afford a taxi to and from his gigs? Jaskier fell into momentary self-deprecation that for all his efforts he was currently a poor man's Tim Minchin, a budget Bill Bailey.

"You're welcome." Geralt turned, heading back into what had to be his study. Jaskier caught a glimpse of a desk near one window, with a laptop in pride of place and a whole pile of books and papers scattered across it. A sword, possibly the one Fi had referred to, was mounted on one wall. It had a wolf's head inscribed on the pommel.

"No," Jaskier said, not willing to be so easily dismissed. Geralt faced him as Jaskier walked boldly into the room. "I mean, you didn't let me say it. Thank you. But that's not enough. What you did...you may have saved my life. You certainly saved me from a terrible beating."

Geralt's expression softened a little and he lifted one hand, almost, but not quite, touching the bruise. "I'm sorry I didn't arrive earlier."

"It's fine," Jaskier said huskily. Surely he was imagining the regret in Geralt's tone and yet…

This close he could catch Geralt's scent, a hint of musk and danger. Oh God, he was thinking in romance novel clichés, not that he read romance novels of course, those ones left in his apartment by the previous tenant hardly counted…

Geralt nodded. As the silence dragged on, Jaskier found he had to fill it.

"I'm Jaskier. I was doing my act–you know that, you were at the bar–and Fi said you're there sometimes; it wasn't my best night but I thought I was doing all right and that cute couple in the front, they liked the ballad I made up for them." Jaskier paused in his ramblings, angling for Geralt to give him a word of praise.

"Hmm," Geralt said.

"Right." Jaskier changed the subject. "So, Geralt, is that German or something? East European? It's unusual." Rather lovely, he thought but didn't add.

Geralt didn't even raise an eyebrow as he countered, "Your name is Jaskier."

Jaskier laughed. "That's true. My father–"

"I don't care."

Jaskier blinked a few times. Hecklers were one thing but this outright lack of interest was something else.

"You are who you are," Geralt said. "I am who I am. You needed help and I helped. There's nothing else to say."

If that was how he taught classes Jaskier worried for the students. _Some people say dragons existed. Most likely they didn't. There's no undisputable evidence either way. Class dismissed._

"I disagree," Jaskier said, pacing the room. A bookcase was filled with both recent paperbacks and ancient tomes, a treasure trove of tales and mysteries that made Jaskier even more curious about and attracted to Geralt. "I want to know more. I want to hear about the folklore you study. I want to know why a professor looks like a bodyguard and could actually be one. I want–" He broke off before he could begin listing fantasies that involved hair and lips and bathing and beds.

Geralt stared at him. "Why?"

"Because...because I feel drawn to you. I feel like that meeting was–"

There was a noise from the hallway. Geralt's attention switched to the doorway. "Ciri?"

Ciri stepped into view, innocence personified. "Can you open the window in my room? It's stuffy and you know I can't reach it without climbing on something."

Geralt made a noise like a disgruntled horse and went on the errand. Ciri dashed into the room.

"Don't say the D word," she hissed.

Jaskier frowned. "Dick?"

Ciri rolled her eyes.

"Not dick? Sorry." He shouldn't be saying that to Ciri. Geralt might kill him.

"Destiny," she said. "You were about to say your meeting was destiny."

He tipped his head. "You were spying on us?"

"Thank me later," she said. "He needs all the help I can give. He's weird about destiny and how it might affect him. He's weirder about emotions. Doesn't think he can love. He loves me, though. I know he can love others."

Jaskier knew their time was limited and tried to cut to the chase. "I was going to say fated but I get it, same thing. He believes in destiny?"

"He doesn't want to, but deep down he does." She gave him a serious look. "And so do I."

And since he'd first laid eyes on Geralt, so did Jaskier.

At that moment Geralt returned. Ciri gave him a sweet smile.

"Thank you."

"You can finish your homework now."

Ciri laughed. "All done." She moved over and kissed Geralt's cheek.

Jaskier gambled again. "Let me take you to dinner," he said. "To thank you properly."

"The man who can't afford taxi fare wants to take me to dinner?" Geralt asked dryly. 

Ciri nudged him and they exchanged looks. "You could take him to dinner," she suggested. "He looks as if he could do with a good meal."

Rather than take offence at being talked about as if he weren't there, Jaskier stood up straight and beamed, like a puppy trying to look his most adoptable at the shelter.

"He can join us both for dinner," Geralt said finally. "So long as you've actually finished your homework."

Ciri smiled. "Give me five minutes to get changed," she said and winked at Jaskier as she dashed out of the room.

Dinner with Geralt and his daughter...not quite the first date Jaskier would have chosen, but it was more than he'd been about to have, and it seemed Ciri was willing to be his wingman (wingwoman?) which was a definite bonus. She was a part of Geralt's life and Jaskier knew he'd have to accept that, so this would be a way of showing he was fine with it.

"You didn't actually ask me to dinner," Jaskier said, pushing his luck, as Geralt made a cursory effort to tidy his desk before grabbing a leather jacket. "It's nice to be asked."

Geralt shook his head. "You're an odd one," he said. "Lucky for you, I like odd."

Luck had been on Jaskier's side a lot this week. Perhaps it was the D word.

"I've been called odd and weird and other things. But who wants to be normal? Normal's boring."

Geralt gave what was almost a smile. "Would you care to join me and Ciri for dinner, Jaskier?"

"I'd be delighted."

It was a start.


End file.
